


I'll gently rise and I'll slowly fall

by huntersandangels



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntersandangels/pseuds/huntersandangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Yonathan could find Eden outside Heaven, it would be that boy’s eyes</p><p>(alternatively, an Angel's quest to comprehend the complexity of human love- or maybe not)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll gently rise and I'll slowly fall

**Author's Note:**

> The initial idea was a fic based on Ed Sheeran's 'Give Me Love' video clip. I failed spectacularly.  
> Greek Orthodox religious aspects regarding Angels and Greek mythology's viewing of Fates and Eros got caught in the web that is my weird mind. This is the result.  
> The title is a paraphrased Ed Sheeran lyric from the hidden track on the previously mentioned song.  
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. If it's incomprehensible, that's also my fault. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

God created him on the 3rd day –along with the other cherubim- and named him Yonathan. If you asked him what he looked like, he wouldn’t know to tell you. He was more aura and grace than anything corporeal. Some said he had no definite shape and others that his four wings were covered with a multitude of eyes. Yonathan did not care. He was an Angel of the second highest order and a soldier of God. He saw himself as that and wished his Brothers did also.

 

When he wasn’t training, he loved to sit by the river and admire the water’s cerulean blue. It reminded him of the sapphires on the Archangels’ blades. He’d turn his gaze in the water and get lost in thoughts of being a Seraph. He could feel the weight of the spear and the fierce presence of Michael on his side.

If Yonathan could dream, his dreams would be cerulean blue.

 

*

 

When Morning Star fell, Yonathan did not weep; not for his beauty or his brightness, not for his skill or presence. When Morning Star fell Yonathan _hoped_. He hoped for a realignment of the order. If Morning Star discarded the honour that was bestowed upon him, Yonathan _craved_ it. 

 

So he trained harder. He corrected his stance, bettered his shot, improved his accuracy and waited… He waited for Gabriel to deliver the message, to call upon him in the time of need and grace him with a spot near the Taxiarch.

 

Gabriel never came…

Michael defeated Lucifer and Yonathan saw no battle.

He stayed at the bank of the river and wept for his unworthiness of the blade.

 

*

 

Yonathan retreated to the Fates’ chambers. He stayed and watched as they spun, measured and cut the thread of life.

He observed the woven threads with fascination; the knots and the twists and the splits in the wool. He questioned the shapes and formats and the purpose of each stroke in the loom.

He was spellbound by the perplexity of destiny and free will that somehow went hand in hand in the grand scheme of things.

“The destination is someone’s fate Yoni, but the journey there is of their own choosing” Clotho- the spinner- told him once with a fond smile.

“Is this why some threads entwine? Is that the change of their path?” he asked.

“That’s the constant battle between their hearts and their logic, their wants and needs. Humans are complicated creatures, Yoni.”

“But the red thread is the thread of Love” Yonathan said with a thoughtful expression “Putti aim the arrow to the destined, Love wounds and inflames the heart.”

“Putti have two arrows, one with a sharp golden point and another with a blunt tip of lead. A person wounded by the golden arrow is filled with uncontrollable desire, the one stuck by the lead feels aversion and his only desire is to flee. They do not get to choose what arrow pierces them or how.”

Yonathan was horrified. Why would they shoot with a lead arrow? Yonathan knew what was to crave something you could not have. Putti weren’t actually an angelic order but he still couldn’t believe that a creation of his Father would purposely cause harm to another creature.

“Some people’s paths are destined to cross, Yoni, but remember it’s still the Human’s choice if he’s going to follow that road or take another to reach his destination.” Clotho replied as if Yonathan had voiced his thoughts out loud “You can’t force Love, Yoni, as you can’t avoid it either.”

Yonathan fluttered his wings in frustration. His eyes travelled from the Fates to the thread. What made it knot? And what made it twist? More importantly, what did it take for it to snap?

 

Yonathan was millenniums old; he had vast knowledge of the world and its creatures, he had witnessed destructions and formations and was aware that human Love had more layers than the simplicity with which Angels loved. He knew but he did not _understand_.

As he watched two threads that had been in close proximity for a while entwine and burl, only to be separated again without breaking, Yonathan made his choice…

 

*

 

Yonathan followed that thread and met Jeff and Mike.

 

Their threads touched the moment they met and stayed that way for a long time. At times they would sway and brush against each other. Those were the times Mike and Jeff would get lost in copious amounts of alcohol and foreign embraces. The moment their tantalizing gazes would meet from the bed over as they reached their climax was the exact one their threads would grate.

Yonathan curiously watched the threads return to their previous state each following day. He watched Mike and Jeff pretend that what they craved was not by their side. Yonathan was confused.

He watched the same pattern form again and again for a while until one day the two threads overlapped.

He saw Jeff cling to Mike, smash their lips together with the desperation of a dying man holding onto his last breath, tongue and teeth with force to taste. He saw Mike’s initial shock in his widen eyes, heard the thud of his heartbeat and witnessed the exact moment his body relaxed and surrendered.

He only saw the golden dust surrounding Jeff’s heart as he turned his back and exited the room to hide his tears. Jeff did not see the speck of gold that started to form around Mike’s heart.

 

Their threads parted after that. Jeff’s started to fray little by little with each passing day while Mike’s roughened at times in an attempt to prevent the break.

Yonathan stared at the threads in agony. He followed them inch by inch, fear accompanying him along the way, until he saw them truss and couldn’t help but smile.

Yonathan left their threads more confused than he started.

 

*

On his second thread journey Jonathan met Patrick and Abbie.

 

Their threads entwined instantly and remained that way. They knotted as the couple got married and tightened twice over with the birth of their daughters. Golden dust surrounded both their hearts and Yonathan decided that that’s how love should be. Love should be easy and effortless.

 

He was about to walk away from their lives and leave their thread when he saw _him._ He was the embodiment of every feature painters wrongly attributed to the Cherubs.

He was small and bright; tousled curls framing his face like a halo and his eyes…his eyes were two blue orbits… cerulean blue.

Yonathan’s grace flickered at the chocking sobs. He watched Patrick hold the boy as he broke apart. His running tears reminded Yonathan of his favourite waterfall. He followed them with his gaze as they streamed down his cheeks towards his mouth. Yonathan did not see salty water and rosy lips; he saw the morning dew caressing the flower petals at the river bank.

 

If Yonathan could find Eden outside Heaven, it would be that boy’s eyes. Who would want to destroy Paradise?

 

 

Yonathan left the Sharp’s with a bittersweet taste. He left with the memory of watery petals and a name on his lips; the boy’s name. _Patrick_.

 

He left with the unexplainable desire, no, the inexplicable _need_ to shield this boy from harm. But alas! Yonathan was not a Guardian Angel allowed to wrap his wings tight around him and cloak him. He had to find another way…

*

 

Yonathan searched the red threads meticulously but came to no conclusion; many Patricks, not enough information to locate the one. For an all-knowing being Yonathan sure felt like he knew nothing at all.

After much time spent in frustration which led him nowhere Yonathan decided to pause and follow another thread.

 

It led him to Taylor and Jordan. He actually witnessed the moment the golden arrow pierced Taylor’s heart. He waited for the inevitable, that one moment where Jordan would turn and be in Taylor’s loving embrace.

That moment never came. As Taylor was about to reach for Jordan, Jordan was hit by an arrow of his own; a golden, bright one that led him to the arms of a brunette girl instead.

Yonathan watched Taylor’s trembling hand retreat and be tucked in his pocket in a tight fist; he saw Taylor’s misty eyes and he heard the exact moment a piece of his heart broke.

He went back and examined their threads closely. He saw them side by side for a long while, Jordan’s pulling away at times only for Taylor’s to follow. Jordan’s knotted down the line but Taylor’s still hang close until a day where all of a sudden Taylor’s split. One side of his thread took a different direction but a tiny bit of string still kept in close proximity to Jordan till the very end.

 

If Yonathan had a human heart, he was sure it would crack on Taylor’s behalf.

 

*

 

Threads and threads later and Yonathan could not yet comprehend the mechanics of human love. The powers that bind them and the force that separated them was a mystery still.

His search for the blue eyed boy named Patrick remained fruitless as well. Many times he contemplated abandoning his quests but he didn’t have it in him to forgo.

 

He threw himself in the path again when he came across an intriguing pair of threads. Those two were inseparable all the way, even when they knotted individually and were solidified by that tiny pull that meant a heritage was left.

Those weirdly united threads led him to Brent and Duncan. If Yonathan was confused before, upon meeting this peculiar pairing he was left abashed.

It was not that apart were not content; it was that together they were _complete_. They were in sync in a way that at times it seemed like they morphed into one single being.

If Yonathan said he understood, he would lie and as an angel of the Lord he was not inclined to do so.

 

Though steps further away from his pursuit of comprehending the human way of love his journey this time was not in vain.

He had finally come upon the boy named Patrick.

 

Yonathan was confused at first as to why he would appear in someone else’s red thread yet again until he remembered the multitude of planes that surrounded human love.

 

If Patrick’s misty eyes had been like the river’s tinkling water, his smile this time around was lucent. Familial embraces enveloped him; his voice was hoarse and rough but somehow it sounded like chimes that reminded Yonathan of the Angelic Choir. Finally, bold white letters across his shoulders gave Yonathan the answer he’d been looking for.

 

Yonathan had a whole name and a brand new mission.

 

*

 

Yonathan returned promptly to Heaven and headed directly to the Fates’ chambers. He rushed to the loom and found Patrick’s red thread.

For the first time ever he stretched his wings and carefully, gently, touched the string. He groped the yarn’s texture and felt the rugged, tarnished grain scrape his feathers echoing heartbreak, anguish and plaint.

Yonathan caressed the thread in a vain attempt to sooth Patrick’s pang. He stared at it for a while as if only by the force of his will he could reconstruct the strand and patch the rifts.

 

Yonathan was certain as what his next step should be. Observing would never be enough; the only way to comprehend the ways of human love was to experience it. All he needed now was a golden arrow.

He dashed to the entrance and for a brief second he paused. He turned to Clotho; she was the artist behind the complicated tapestry after all.

 

“My Lady, is it a vice of me to crave? Is it audacious to want? Many angels have fallen before for the exact same reason” he questioned timidly.

Clotho made no attempt to look at him and continued to weave. Yonathan took it as a sign of disapproval. He was torn between need and reason until his entire being was filled with images of cerulean blue. Only this time they weren’t a sapphire, nor a blade or even the crystal river waters. They were images of a spark that still glowed in a boy’s eyes; the remainders of a hope he was not letting die.

 

Yonathan walked out the chambers without looking back. He missed Clotho’s faint smile and the new red string that her hands wove.

 

*

 

 

Taking a golden arrow from the Putti turned out to be easier than Yonathan thought. Armed with his weapon he materialised and descended to earth.

 

*

 

Yonathan walked in the half-lighted room with a confidence behoved to a being of his calibre, gaining relatively easy control of his newfound limps. The thunderous noise did not bother him, the scent of alcohol did not repel him and the ways of human celebration did not interest him; he was on the most important mission of his entire existence.

He located Patrick in the midst of a crowd, golden liquor being poured on his body as if the sun was setting upon him. Yonathan ignored the perplexity the action caused him. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Patrick and waited for an opportunity to rise; for the moment he would finally be able to approach him and solve the greatest mystery of all.

Patrick’s gaze wandered around and finally stopped on him. Even across the room, Yonathan felt himself drowning in fathomless cerulean blue. The flutter that came was not from his wings but from somewhere deep inside and made it unable for him to draw breath.

Agitated and bewildered by this new sensation, Yonathan sought safe haven in the solitude of a restroom.

 

His lonesomeness did not last long. He felt Patrick’s aura nearing him long before he heard the footsteps behind the door. He made his decision instantly. He took out the golden arrow and stabbed himself on the neck.

 

*

 

Patrick didn’t know what compelled him to follow the strange man. Maybe it was his stance, the way he carried himself around the room or maybe it was his intense stare that was directed towards Patrick. He didn’t stop to think it over; he could always blame his reckless decision to the adrenaline and alcohol that was running through his veins. 

 He pushed the door open before his courage could fiddle away. The sight before him petrified him. Inside, on the cold, hard tiles laid the mystery man with a bleeding neck wound. Patrick’s first instinct was to scream followed by the urge to flee but there was a pull that made his feet move towards the laying form.

A groan pulled him out of his trance and made him rush to the man’s side, a string of curses escaping his lips along the way. He kneeled and ripped a piece of his shirt applying pressure to the wound.

“Hey, man, can you hear me?” he asked “you’re ok-it’s gonna be ok-just hold on” he tried to reassure.

The man clung to him as Patrick reached for his cell phone “Hold on a second buddy, I’m going to call for help, alright?”

The man still did not reply “Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”

“Yo- Yoni” came the faint reply

“Jonny- ok Jonny I’m going to call 911, everything is going to be all right, hang on just a little longer, ok?”

Jonny nodded weakly but tighten his grip on Patrick’s shirt while Patrick was talking on the phone, making it difficult for him to keep the fabric in place. He was about to ask Jonny to calm down when the hand that was clamped on him fell limply.

 

*

 

Yonathan thought for a moment that he was back in heaven flying carelessly through the clouds. In reality, his grace was floating somewhere between body and space. He tried to follow it but found himself unable to move. Weakened and hazy let himself fall slowly into the abyss, prepared to land wherever he was destined.

Only Yonathan did not fall. Wet, soft lips blew new breath of life in his body and Patrick’s voice calling his name drew him back.

Yonathan opened his eyes and got lost in that precious cerulean blue ocean. The feel of Patrick’s hand, simultaneously gentle and rough, caressing his cheek put a frail smile on Yonathan’s lips.

No- not Yonathan’s. Patrick had renamed him; he had saved him and claimed him as his own. He was no longer Yonathan. He was Jonny; Patrick’s Jonny.

 

The golden beacon that surrounded Patrick, Jonny knew was not arrow dust but Patrick’s bright soul. He was calling Jonny’s grace, guiding back to where it belonged. Jonny knew that Patrick’s heart was not sprinkled with golden powder yet but Jonny’s heart was coated in it. Enough to spread widely until it reached Patrick.

 

Jonny had been misled before. His real journey was just about to begin.

 

*


End file.
